Lost Memories
by Mrs. Hermione Potter
Summary: AU: Harry wakes up in the Hospital Wing—he is a Fifth Year, living with Sirius. Bellatrix Lestrange has escaped from Azkaban, Harry’s only best friend is Hermione, and Harry must help Dumbledore destroy the Horcruxes before Voldemort can rise again.
1. Here and There

AU: After Voldemort kills him in the Forbidden Forest, Harry wakes up in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts — he is a Fifth Year and living with his godfather. Bellatrix Lestrange has escaped from Azkaban, Harry's one and only best friend is Hermione, and Harry must help Dumbledore destroy the Horcruxes before Voldemort can rise again.

Chapter One

Here and there

Harry Potter could hear murmuring voices. He was lying on his back somewhere soft, and felt extremely comfortable in a cocoon of blankets. He could not make out what the voices were saying, but he didn't expect to. He had heard those voices before, just behind the veil — they were waiting for him, Luna had said — and now Harry had come to greet them at last.

"Where are my parents?" Harry asked expectantly upon opening his eyes, smiling slightly at the sight of his godfather. Sirius looked much more solid than he had in the forest, just moments ago. Receiving no answer, Harry looked around and felt his chest constrict at the sight that met his eyes. Hermione was perched by his bedside, her eyes filled with concern. Had she died as well, then? She must have done, Harry thought, for there was one thing of which he was certain: he was dead. Utterly and purposefully defenseless, Harry had let Voldemort take his life with one fatal flick of the wand. Harry had heard the terrible sound of death speeding toward him, but once it hit he found that Sirius was right: Dying didn't hurt a bit. Harry was thoroughly unsurprised to find Sirius waiting for him on the other side of the veil, so to speak. But why was Hermione there? How could she have died, with all the Death Eaters surrounding his body in the forest and her — safe, he had thought — in the Great Hall?

"Harry…" Sirius began. "Your parents are dead." He sat down on the bed next to Harry, exchanging a rapid look with Hermione. Harry could not help but laugh, causing Hermione to jump slightly in her chair.

"Well, yeah. Of course they are," Harry looked at Sirius incredulously. "So are you. But you aren't," Harry turned to Hermione suddenly, "or weren't, anyway. What happened?" Harry's head was spinning as he pictured Hermione holding Ginny in the Great Hall — what could have possibly happened? What danger had he failed to foresee?

"Nothing happened to me, Harry," Hermione said softly. Her eyes were welling up with tears, and she looked simultaneously startled and concerned. "You fell off your broomstick. You've been out for nearly two days." His broomstick? His Firebolt had fallen into oblivion almost a year ago.

"What do you mean, 'I've been out'?" Harry demanded, now uncertain of his state of being. Fully taking in his surroundings for the first time, Harry realized he was in the Hospital Wing. It was empty — but for him, Hermione, and Sirius —and it showed no signs of having recently serviced battle-torn witches and wizards. Now that he looked properly, Sirius did not look at all like the echo who had walked him through the forest. He was older, and without the carefree smile. And Hermione, who looked as confused as Harry felt, did not seem like the Hermione he had recently left. Her hair, if not necessarily tame, was certainly less bushy than he was used to of late. Before Hermione could answer, Sirius took Harry's hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"You're fine, Harry," he said soothingly, quite as though he was talking to an insane person. "Everything's fine. Madam Pomfrey will have you fixed up in no time." Sirius felt Harry's forehead, and Harry closed his eyes for a moment, drinking in the gesture. It was so… parental.

"Wait…" Harry leaned back slightly and looked Sirius in the eyes. They did not have that horrible sunken look Harry associated with his godfather's time in Azkaban, but nor did they have the cheery glint of Sirius's youth. "What — what's going on?" Harry was not quite sure how to frame the question without sounding as panicked and ridiculous as he felt.

"The dementors came too close to the Quidditch pitch during the game, and you sort of… well, you fainted again, Harry," Hermione explained in a shaky voice, passing over the confused pronouncement that she wasn't dead. "Dumbledore was really angry. I've never seen him like that before. He ran onto the field as you fell, waved his wand, and you sort of slowed down before you hit the ground. Then he whirled his wand at the dementors. Shot silver stuff at them. They left the stadium right away…. I looked up the spell, and I think he used the Patronus Charm. I think you should learn it, Harry. It's really complicated magic, but — "

"Hermione," Harry interrupted. "I can make a Patronus. And, wait… what? Dumbledore? But how could he have done? He's…" Harry couldn't complete the sentence, or even the thought. His mind was swirling with flashes of green light, the horrible image of Albus Dumbledore seemingly frozen in the air as he was thrown from the tower, and Sirius falling… and falling… But he, Harry, had died as well. Harry knew, though he did not know how he knew, that he was gone from the world. Yet he was equally certain that he was _here_, which, Harry reasoned, meant that this was not the world. Sirius felt Harry's forehead once again, apparently convinced that Harry was suffering from fever delusions.

"Do you think his brain's addled?" Hermione half-whispered to Sirius, quite as though Harry was not there.

"My brain isn't addled!" Harry said hotly. "But this doesn't make any sense! Quidditch — the dementors — that was Third Year. You were still in hiding," he gestured to Sirius, "oh, no… I guess you were at the game, or Padfoot was," Harry tried to explain without knowing exactly what he was explaining. Was this his life flashing before his eyes? But it hadn't happened this way, thought Harry, so it couldn't be. Harry could feel his heart pounding, and then he realized — he had a heartbeat. He turned to Sirius, whose chest was rising and falling. He was — "Are you alive?"

Sirius did not answer right away, but as soon as the question was out of Harry's mouth, he had no doubt it was true. Harry felt as though a great, gaping hole in his chest — one that had been residing there for so long that Harry rarely took any notice of it anymore — had been suddenly filled. In that instant, Harry did not care where he was. The sense of bewilderment and panic that seemed as though it would overtake him a moment ago was gone. Sirius was there, inches from him, as solid and opaque as can be. He was not a ghost, not an echo, not a spirit… he was just Sirius. Without warning, Harry lurched forward and threw his arms around Sirius, holding him in what Harry hoped was a very loving sort of death grip.

"Sirius, I'm so sorry…" The words poured from his mouth, as though Harry had been saying them over and over again in his subconscious for months… maybe even years. "It was my fault, it was all my fault — everything… I should have learned Occlumency — or… or… the mirror." Harry felt a familiar pang at the thought, and suspected that if Hermione had any idea what he was talking about, she might use this moment to say _I told you so_, but she did not. "I never meant for it to happen — I was just trying to… I thought you were…" Harry could hear a pleading note to his voice. Sirius held Harry in a fierce hug, and began to rub his back slowly.

"Harry," he began, again with a bedside manner more suitable for the Janus Thickey Ward at St. Mungo's, "you haven't done anything; nothing happened; we're all fine." Harry did not respond, but shook his head mutely into Sirius's chest. He did not pull away for fear that Sirius and Hermione would see the tears he could feel burning in his eyes, threatening to fall despite Harry's best efforts. Eventually slackening his grip, Harry fell backwards and leaned against the headboard. He suddenly felt exhausted.

"I don't understand," said Harry simply. And it was true; He was at a complete loss as to what was going on, where he was, where he had been, and… pretty much everything. "You said Dumbledore is alive?" Harry asked Hermione. "We have to talk to him, he'll know what's going on." Harry started to get up, but Sirius gently restrained him.

"We can talk to Dumbledore once you've had some rest, Harry. I think if you just get some sleep — "

"I don't need sleep! I need to know what's going on!" said Harry, slightly annoyed at Sirius, who he thought would have been a bit keener to get to the bottom of the situation. "The last thing I remember is Voldemort using _Avada Kedavra_ on me in the forest, and then I woke up here." Harry paused. "This… this isn't my life, or something. This isn't right."

"Of course it is, Harry," said Hermione. "You must be in shock or something. I mean, you know us, don't you? You're just… a bit mixed-up at the moment."

"The dementors must have made you see Voldemort," Sirius offered by way of explanation. "He can't have cursed you, Harry, he hasn't got a body."

"Hasn't he?" Harry interjected in surprise. "Wait, is this Third Year? A memory, or…" Harry trailed off. "Is he not back?"

"We're in Fifth Year, Harry," Hermione replied, as though explaining something to a very small child. "And we stopped Voldemort from getting the sorcerer's stone; He never came back."

"After the Triwizard Tournament?" Harry prompted. Hermione and Sirius shook their heads. The thought suddenly hit Harry that if the dementors were here, surely they would be looking for Sirius. And Sirius was just sitting there! Harry jumped out of bed, causing Sirius to fall off. "_What are you doing?_ You can't just sit here if the dementors are everywhere! Someone's going to see you!" Harry yanked at Sirius's sleeve, thinking that if they could make it to the Room of Requirement he could hide Sirius until it was safe to smuggle him out of the castle. He was _not_ going to let anything happen to Sirius again — not in this world, too… wherever and whatever it was.

Sirius, who had apparently been expecting Harry to do something crazy, reached out and held him fast. "The dementors aren't here for me, Harry, or for you. And the staff already knows I'm here; Dumbledore owled as soon as you fell. Everything is okay." Sirius said the last sentence slowly, emphasizing each word. Harry wondered if Sirius thought that repeating this statement would make it true.

"Then who?" asked Harry.

"Bellatrix Lestrange," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "That escaped Death Eater." Harry saw Sirius flinch as Hermione said the name, and then go pale. But Sirius was not looking at Hermione when the blood drained from his face — he was looking at Harry. Harry knew that his hatred — that feeling of deepest loathing that came from the pit of his stomach and made his every muscle tense — was written all over him. Harry almost hissed as he asked, "She's here?" He suddenly whipped round, half expecting Bellatrix to be framed in the doorway, wand at the ready. Harry looked desperately for his own wand. He needed to go — he needed to get her, to stop her.

"She's not here, Harry!" Sirius said urgently, seeing the red glint in his godson's eyes. "You've just fallen off your broom! Voldemort is not here," Sirius continued, now speaking slowly and deliberately, with a quiet force that reminded Harry of Dumbledore. "You are not dead. I am not dead. Hermione is not dead."

"Your parents are," Hermione added uselessly. Sirius shot her a look. Though Harry knew that Sirius was not entirely right, and something beyond his comprehension was clearly going on, he nevertheless found comfort in his godfather's words. Moments later, Harry heard a door open behind him and Madam Pomfrey came bustling in.

"You're up! Wonderful, wonderful," she said, pulling back the curtain and approaching Harry's bedside. "I was beginning to think the potion wasn't working. How do you feel?" she asked, pushing back Harry's hair and feeling his forehead.

"Fine," said Harry honestly. He certainly didn't feel as though he'd just fallen fifty feet from a broomstick — a sensation he well remembered, and was in no hurry to experience again. He was, however, extremely confused — certain he had died, but equally certain that he was now alive. "Sirius, we need to talk to Dumbledore, please," Harry said urgently. If there was a Dumbledore here — wherever here was — Harry was certain that he would know what had happed, that his knowledge would extend to any realm.

"I hardly think," Madam Pomfrey said disapprovingly, "that you should be overexerting yourself like that just now." But Harry wasn't listening, for he was looking hard at Sirius, willing him to believe that he, Harry, was not confunded or crazy.

"No, it's fine," Sirius said to Madam Pomfrey. "I'll take him up. No overexertion at all, I promise, he'll barely exert." Sirius winked and Harry grinned at him. "Let's go, kid." Harry stood up and walked to the door with Sirius, who put his arm around Harry and gave a short squeeze.


	2. Professor Vector's Speculations

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing you recognize. There are even a few lines from the books, obviously copyright J.K. Rowling, worked into the story ;)

**Author's Note:** Please review if you read the story — tell me if you like it, and definitely tell me if you loathe it.

Chapter Two

Professor Vector's Speculations

Harry looked resolutely at the ground in front of him as they crossed the entrance hall and started up the marble staircase, but averting his eyes did nothing to stop the images of gigantic spiders bursting through the door and Oliver Wood carrying Colin Creevey's body off toward the Great Hall. These things had just happened; and yet here he was, beating the familiar path to Dumbledore's office, where he would apparently find a living and breathing Dumbledore. Sirius's eyes were trained on Harry, watching his every step as though afraid Harry would collapse or burst out violently again. When they reached the stone gargoyle, Harry was prepared to start guessing random candies (he tried to remember the password in his Fifth Year, but only managed to recall his annoyance at how distant Dumbledore had been) but Sirius promptly said, "Fizzing Whizbee."

The gargoyle sprang to life and leapt aside; the wall behind split in two to reveal a stone staircase that was moving continuously upward like a spiral escalator. Harry and Sirius stepped onto the moving stairs; the wall closed behind him with a thud, and they were winding upward in tight circles until they reached a highly polished oak door with the brass knocker shaped like a griffin. With a meaningful look at Harry (though Harry did not know exactly what it meant), Sirius rapped a few times with the griffin knocker. The door opened of its own accord to reveal Albus Dumbledore sitting at his desk, smiling serenely. The familiarity of the office made Harry's chest feel either very heavy or completely empty — he could not tell which, it seemed like both were happening at once. The silver instruments stood whirling on tables, the portrait of Armando Dippet hung behind the desk, and the sorting hat sat silently on its shelf. From the brilliant phoenix standing on his perch to Dumbledore himself, everything was exactly as Harry remembered it.

"Professor," Harry said in what he thought was a full voice, but it came out like a whisper. He did not continue, because for some reason his voice would no longer function. He looked at Sirius, and was almost surprised — perhaps it was the shock of seeing Dumbledore —to see him standing there.

"Harry," Dumbledore said in a cheery voice, "it's good to see you up and about. How are you feeling?" Harry started to say fine, but Sirius spoke before he had the chance.

"When he woke up," Sirius hastened to explain, "Harry thought he was in… Well, his memory is off, or…" Sirius trailed off, unsure how to phrase the issue that he did not understand.

"Please sit," Dumbledore gestured to two chairs facing his desk. "Do you have amnesia, Harry?"

"No, it's not like that," Harry said, finding his voice. "I reckon… I'm in the wrong world or something. Everything is the same," Harry blundered on, sure he was not expressing himself particularly well, "but then it's all different. And I'm supposed to be dead," Harry suddenly remembered. "And… so are you and Sirius." Harry waited for Dumbledore's reaction before going on, but Dumbledore simply nodded; Harry took this as an indication that he should continue. "The last thing I remember," Harry began, and he launched into a description of the scene that had so recently played out in the Forbidden Forest. Harry told Dumbledore everything that seemed to contradict what Sirius and Hermione had told him: He could make a Patronus; the dementors had been there for Sirius. These tidbits called for background information, and soon Harry found himself pouring out the entire story of the Wizarding War as he knew it. Once Harry had exhausted all the details, and himself, he waited.

"Well," said Dumbledore, "this is certainly unusual." Harry couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment — he had hoped Dumbledore would have something a little more substantial to say.

"Unusual?" Sirius repeated. "But not unheard of? Does that mean you know what's going on?"

"Am I correct in saying that neither of you have studied Arithmancy?" Dumbledore asked them. Sirius and Harry nodded as one, and Harry could not help but feel like they were being chided; he imagined for a moment that he and Sirius had pulled some marvelous prank, and were about to be told off.

"Arithmancy is a form of mathematical divination; it's rather more accurate than the Divination you have studied, Harry, but precise predictions are difficult to calculate. Many Arithmancers, Professor Vector included, have found indications of the existence of alternate universes in their studies. And I believe that you may have brought us the first solid evidence that their hypothesis is correct." Dumbledore's eyes sparkled.

"You mean, I'm in a parallel universe?" Harry said, feeling shell-shocked. "Why, though? Voldemort killed me… Why didn't I die?"

"It is my belief, and I could be quite mistaken —" Dumbledore began.

"But you don't think you are?" Sirius interrupted.

"No, Sirius, I do not believe I am," Dumbledore said, looking somewhat reprovingly at Sirius over his half-moon spectacles. "It is my belief that the reason you did not die — or, I should say, die entirely — when Lord Voldemort cursed you is because your mortalities are so intertwined that you cannot be killed while he or any of his Horcruxes still exist. He killed, it would seem, your body in the world in which you lived. He could not, however, destroy your soul."

"So my soul ended up here?" Harry asked. He felt like he was drowning in a sea of puzzle pieces that he needed to put together in order to make his way out.

"Again, I can only guess, having never experienced such an extraordinary circumstance before, but you seem to have, for lack of a better word, transferred to this universe after you… passed."

"Does this mean… Does this mean I can't die?" Harry remembered the chill of dread he had felt in the forest as he walked toward his death; the glacial horror that gripped him at the idea that he could never die was considerably worse.

"I do not think so, Harry. Unless similar series of events unfold perpetually." Dumbledore smiled so as to indicate that he doubted that would be the case. "Once Lord Voldemort is destroyed in your world, you will be as mortal as the rest of us." Sirius opened his mouth to speak, but apparently did not know what to say, because he closed it a moment later and settled for resting a hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry was grateful for this anchor, because his brain had begun to spin wildly once again. _Once Lord Voldemort is destroyed in your world_… but would he be? If it were just a matter of killing the snake, Harry had little doubt that Hermione, Ron, and Neville could manage the task. But what about the eighth piece, that lingering vestige of mortality that Voldemort was so ready to tear to shreds—where was that? Had Voldemort's curse wiped him from his body, as it had Harry? Had Voldemort again become a wisp in need of another being to posses? But that, surely, would not be a problem, surrounded as he was by his most devoted followers. He imagined a Bellatrix-Voldemort hybrid and felt his insides squirm.

"But what about the Voldemort here? I mean, he hasn't got a body, but he still has Horcruxes and everything, right?" Harry asked urgently. "If Bellatrix escaped from Azkaban, she's going to find him, isn't she? She can help him get a body; It could just all happen over again." Harry was still not quite able to wrap his mind around the fact that he was neither in the world he knew, nor was he dead, so he focused instead on the thing that had driven his actions for the past year: destroying Voldemort. "We've got to destroy the Horcruxes, haven't we? Before he comes back?"

Dumbledore did not answer right away, but fixed Harry with his penetrating, light-blue stare — a stare Harry was certain he would never see again. "That would be prudent, yes," Dumbledore said quietly. "I think, however, that we need not focus on that matter at the moment." Harry, who thought there was no time like the present when it came to defeating the most seriously evil wizard of all time, looked at Dumbledore in what he hoped was a politely incredulous way.

"Surely… I mean, we should… get on that…" Harry finished lamely. To Harry's surprise, Dumbledore smiled.

"And so we shall, Harry. I have already started the hunt myself, but I daresay your help will speed the process along."

"He's a teenager, Dumbledore," said Sirius suddenly, deliberately avoiding his godson's eye. "Should he really be out there helping you destroy bits of Voldemort's soul? The Aurors can take care of that, right?"

"Sirius, I've been fighting Voldemort for ages!" Harry shouted incredulously. "I'm not a kid — I'm of age!" Sirius turned to face Harry.

"No, you're not." He said seriously. "You're fifteen here, Harry, remember?" Harry had not remembered that. Why had he gone back two years when Voldemort sent him to this world? But he quickly stopped himself from wondering that — pondering the logistics of the impossible jump he had just made caused his brain to feel like the wrung sponge. He turned his mind back to Horcruxes and Voldemort. It was surprisingly easy to make himself focus on that in spite of the baffling situation he was in; Perhaps he was so accustomed to hunting Voldemort, obsessing over his end, that it was second nature by now.

"So what?" Harry demanded. He felt an anger he had not experienced since Fifth Year (and remembered with a jolt that it _was_ Fifth Year): How could Sirius — of all people — tell him to stand on the sidelines? Hadn't he proven that he was capable of hunting Horcruxes? Hadn't he shown that he could face Voldemort? "Even if I am fifteen… but, I mean, I'm not — I'm seventeen… I just got sent back to fifteen or something… but it doesn't matter! I can help! I've got to — neither can live while the other survives."

"You know the prophecy?" Sirius interjected in surprise.

"Yes," Harry said with ill-disguised exasperation. "I told you, I've been fighting him!" _Neither can live while the other survives_. The words echoed in Harry's head. What did this mean about the Voldemort he had recently left? The other Harry was not living now… so Voldemort _could_ survive. But he knew, without knowing how he knew, that Voldemort would not survive. Harry, the accidental Horcrux, was gone. It was just the snake… the snake, and the last bit — the worst bit, the one in Voldemort himself. And yet somehow Harry knew that the Battle of Hogwarts would rage on even after his death — indeed, perhaps with more urgency because of his death — and that no one would lay down his or her wand until Voldemort was gone for good. Ron, Hermione, and Neville knew to get the snake first, and then someone would have kill Voldemort — Kingsley, Professor McGonagall, someone in the D.A. — someone would do it. He had done his part, Harry thought. Now he had to trust everyone else to finish that fight — he had no choice. _We're all still here_, Luna had whispered, _we're still fighting_. But he, Harry, was facing a new Voldemort, a new fight.

"I've got to fight, Sirius," Harry said a little desperately.

"Harry," Sirius begun, betraying some of his own exasperation, "you're acting like we're at war." Harry did not have a response to this, and so turned to Dumbledore.

"I can help with the Horcruxes, right? I know where they are. We just have to get them before Bellatrix can find Voldemort." Dumbledore surveyed Harry for a moment, saying nothing. When he spoke, it was not to Harry, but to Sirius.

"You have heard the prophecy, Sirius. You have heard Harry's explanation of events in his own world. You know as well as I that when the time is right, Harry must join me." Harry smiled triumphantly, and Sirius looked at him with begrudging pride. "That time, however, is not now," Dumbledore said, continuing hastily as Harry showed signs of planning to interrupt. "Harry, I think in the short-term you would do better to take some time to settle in."

"What do you mean, settle in?" Harry said angrily. "Sir?" he added politely.

"I mean that, as far as we can deduce, you have just skipped between worlds." Dumbledore paused to let this, the elephant in the room, sink in. "From what you tell us of your world, these universes share the same elements, as it were, but events have unfolded very differently." Harry thought this was a profound understatement. Never had he felt so out of place, despite being surrounded by comforts that he would have given anything to experience a few weeks ago — the weight of Sirius's hand, the rustling of Fawkes's feathers, the perfect blue of Dumbledore's eyes.

"Can I take him home for a few days?" Sirius asked Dumbledore.

"I think it would be most advisable for Harry to behave as he normally would," Dumbledore said thoughtfully. Sirius looked extremely doubtful, and took to intently surveying Harry again. "What do you think, Harry?"

"I dunno…" Harry answered lamely, but Sirius saved him from continuing.

"Just the weekend — it's already Thursday. Couldn't he come home until Sunday?" Sirius asked. Harry's attention got caught on the word _home_. A home with Sirius, he thought. A warm glow spread from his center to his extremities.

"Very well," said Dumbledore, taking in Harry's instinctive smile at the thought of spending the weekend with Sirius. "I suppose it would be wise for Harry to get centered before delving into daily activities." Sirius clapped his hands together and turned to Harry.

"Excellent. Do you need anything, Harry?"

"I should probably tell Ron and Hermione," Harry said vaguely. Sirius raised his eyebrows at the mention of Ron's name, but didn't say anything.

"I would be happy to make sure Miss Granger is informed," Dumbledore said, also passing over Ron without explanation. Harry did not probe the point; Sirius would explain.

"Do you mind if we use your fire, Dumbledore?" Sirius asked, apparently keen to get Harry home has soon as possible.

"Not at all," said Dumbledore graciously. He gestured to a small box on the mantelpiece. "Help yourself." Harry followed Sirius across the room and took a handful of Floo Powder from the box Sirius held out for him.

"It's called the Lighthouse, Harry," Sirius said. "Um, just toss the powder in," Sirius began tentatively, but stopped at the look Harry shot him. Harry threw the powder into the fire that Sirius conjured and stepped inside the grate, feeling the familiar tickle of flames around him.

"The Lighthouse," said Harry firmly. Dumbledore's office disappeared from sight as Harry zoomed past hundreds of kitchens and living rooms. Just when he was so dizzy that he thought he might be sick, Harry fell inelegantly onto the floor of a room he did not recognize.


	3. The Lighthouse

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing you recognize.

**Author's Note:** Please review if you read the story — tell me if you like it, and definitely tell me if you loathe it.

Chapter Three

The Lighthouse

Harry stood up and surveyed the room around him. There was a worn-in leather couch pressed against the opposite wall. On the coffee table in front of the couch, an abandoned half-played game of wizard chess sat next to an empty mug and a stack of magazines. The restless chessmen glowered at each other, and a few looked up in interest when Harry entered the room. Harry ignored them and continued to look around. Several moving pictures on another wall caught his attention, and he approached them to get a closer look. Harry was surprised to see his own face looking back at him from many of the framed photographs: He was one year old and zooming around his parents' living room on a toy broomstick; Sirius had his arm around a thirteen-year-old Harry, who was beaming; He and Hermione were doubled over in laughter on what looked like the leather couch in this very room; He was wearing Quidditch robes and diving spectacularly, presumably chasing a Snitch somewhere below. Harry saw the familiar photograph of Sirius as best man at his parents' wedding, and a few shots of the Marauders in Hogwarts robes.

Harry felt like he was in a dream as he continued to wander through the room. Sirius had not yet arrived, and Harry wondered stupidly for a moment if he had gotten out at the wrong grate, before realizing that it was unlikely he had accidentally entered a random wizarding home that happened to be bedecked with pictures of himself and his family. This was obviously where he and Sirius lived, but he couldn't quite register the fact that he had a home with his godfather: It still felt surreal, as though he were walking through a museum exhibit. And what was keeping Sirius? Harry decided that Sirius had probably sent him along first in order to have a private word with Dumbledore, and set off to look at the rest of the house.

He exited the living room and saw the open door to a kitchen off the hallway, as well as a staircase. He climbed the stairs and found several doors off the second floor landing. He opened one at random, and found himself in what was undoubtedly his room. _His room _— the idea seemed absurd. There was a large bed against one wall with a duvet covered in tiny Snitches zooming around one another; Harry wondered momentarily how he could sleep with all the dizzying movement. Across from the bed was a large bay window and a bookshelf set against the wall, which was covered in crimson wallpaper. Harry squinted against the blinding sunlight flooding through the window, and then shut his eyes. He squeezed them tightly closed, sure that when he opened them he would no longer be in this impossible place. Before he had a chance to test this theory, however, a voice from behind him made him jump in surprise.

"I see you found your room," Sirius said from the doorway. Harry opened his eyes abruptly and spun around, making himself slightly dizzy. "Sorry," Sirius chuckled. "Didn't mean to frighten you." He was grinning at Harry, and Harry returned the smile, still feeling rather dazed.

"Wow," was all he managed to say. "I live here? We live here?"

"Yup," Sirius said happily, walking over to Harry's bed and sitting down. "We moved in when I got out, the summer after your Third Year."

"How'd you get out? Did you escape?"

"No," said Sirius in surprise. "I was cleared. Dumbledore was in Albania — "

"Looking for Voldemort?" Harry interrupted.

"I'm not sure; He never said. Anyway, he was in Albania and came across Peter Pettigrew in an inn. He always was an idiot," Sirius added with a hint of ill-disguised bitterness, "staying at a Wayside Inn when he's supposed to be dead." Harry grinned.

"So they let you out? I left the Dursleys?"

"Sure did," Sirius said. "I think you set a world record in packing: We had all your stuff out of there in ten minutes flat." If it was possible (and he felt sure it was not), Harry's grin widened.

"Brilliant!" Harry had hundreds of questions, but did not know where to begin. It felt odd to have someone explain his own life to him. Sirius correctly interpreted Harry's pregnant pause.

"I know this is bizarre, Harry. I can't even imagine how strange this all must be for you. But let's just take things one day at a time," Sirius said encouragingly. "And if you want to spend some more time at home, I can talk to Dumbledore. We can try Confunding him if he still isn't keen on the idea…" Harry laughed but said nothing for a moment, looking intently at Sirius. He couldn't help but fear that his godfather would suddenly disappear. Unbidden, the image of Sirius's body falling in a graceful arc through the tattered veil came to the forefront of his mind. One moment he was there, laughing; His eyes were twinkling with the kind of fierce glint that could only come from battle. But then — then he was gone. Harry remembered the look of mingled fear and surprise that had crossed Sirius's face as he disappeared forever. "What's wrong, Harry?" Sirius asked, making Harry realize that the grin must have had faded from his face. "I mean, other than the obvious…"

"Nothing," Harry lied quickly. Sirius didn't need to know about the terrible hollow that had been inside Harry after he had vanished through the ancient archway; He didn't need to know that Harry's insides had writhed in invisible, indescribable pain for days. Sirius let out a brief laugh that lacked all humor.

"Come on, Harry. I know you better than that. You need to let me be here for you, kid. What were you just thinking about?" Sirius asked, looking at Harry expectantly.

"Just that… I was just thinking about your, um, smile," Harry said somewhat honestly. Sirius raised an eyebrow and said nothing, waiting for Harry to continue. All traces of the wide grin he had been wearing moments before were gone, replaced with a look of deep concern that Harry realized only came over Sirius when he, Harry, was in trouble. Sirius had risked everything, always, to see Harry, to help him in that other life — the only life Harry knew, the life from which he was gone forever.

"You were still laughing," Harry said simply. "When you died. You were laughing… and then you weren't… anything." Sirius rose from the bed and pulled Harry into a hug; Harry had been hugged like this only once before, by Mrs. Weasley after the Third Task. Harry felt, for the first time since had woken up, like he truly belonged here — here in this house, here in this world, here in Sirius's tight embrace.

"I'm tempted to promise I won't die on you again," Sirius said, still not letting go of Harry. "But I'm not sure if that's something I can guarantee…" Harry could not help but laugh, and he was smiling again when he sat down on the bed next to Sirius. "Do you want to talk about it?" Sirius asked, serious once again.

"Not really," said Harry, realizing that it was true as soon as the words were out of his mouth. "Not right now." Harry glanced at Sirius for a moment, and then, satisfied that his godfather was in fact there, continued. "Tell me about… me," he said interestedly. He was suddenly filled with burning curiosity. "And hang on," he said, suddenly remembering. "What's with Ron? How come Dumbledore just said he'd tell Hermione where I was going?"

"Ron Weasley?"

"Yeah, of course," Harry said quickly. "He's my best friend… Isn't he?" Sirius started to shake his head slowly.

"He's on the Quidditch team with you," Sirius said somewhat tentatively. "He's the captain. So, I suppose you're friends… but I don't think you're particularly close." Harry's heart sank. He couldn't imagine that there was any world in which he and Ron weren't best friends. Harry remembered the stint during the Triwizard Tournament when he and Ron weren't speaking; He had no desire to relive it. Sirius hurriedly continued, "But you were best friends with Hermione too, right?" Harry nodded.

"I play Seeker, right? On the team?" Harry was eager to move the conversation away from his non-best friend.

"Yes," Sirius said with a smile. "You fly as well as your father." Harry remembered Sirius telling him this in the Shrieking Shack; He remembered the way that Sirius's face had lit up and the gaunt look of thirteen years imprisonment had instantly melted away.

"Who are my friends besides Hermione?" Harry asked. He didn't like the idea of spending all his free time in the library.

"You spend most of your time with Hermione and Neville. You met on the train First Year. Apparently Hagrid didn't tell you how to get on the platform, and Hermione heard you ask a guard. She came over to tell you off for breaking the International Statute of Secrecy — asked you if you'd bothered to open a single textbook _because that's a really serious rule_," Sirius said, mimicking Hermione's voice. Harry laughed — that sounded that the Hermione he knew. "You three get into all sorts of trouble," Sirius said proudly. Hermione had mentioned that they'd stopped Voldemort from getting the sorcerer's stone; He wondered what else they'd done.

"Did we find the Chamber of Secrets?" Harry asked.

"In your Second Year. Ginny Weasley opened it — well, obviously it was Voldemort, but he used Ginny."

"Are she and I friends?" Harry asked excitedly.

"Well…." Sirius began. Harry suspected that Sirius didn't want to keep telling him that he was not friends with his friends anymore. "Not really," he admitted. "There's this other girl in her year, though: Luna Lovegood. She's a bit of a weirdo, to be honest, but Neville met her at the greenhouses — apparently she's really interested in Herbology too. You guys hang round with her a fair bit." Harry was about to ask more questions, desperate to know more about his life, but was interrupted by a crash from downstairs. He turned to Sirius.

"Expecting someone?" Sirius shook his head and stood up.

"Wait here," Sirius said, drawing his wand and heading for the stairs. Harry ignored this, and followed him down to the living room, where they found a soot-covered Hermione righting a fairly ugly decorative vase on the floor by the fireplace.

"Sorry!" she said to Sirius as soon as he walked in. "I tripped over it."

"Don't worry, that stupid thing is always in the way. It was a gift from my cousin," he explained to Harry. "She reckons it's 'fun.'"

"Tonks?" Harry asked excitedly. Sirius smiled widely and nodded. "Sounds like her."

"Anyway, sorry to barge in," Hermione said, deftly wiping off all the soot with her wand. "Dumbledore explained what happened. He also said you needed some time to rest," she continued with a guilty smile, "but, well…" Harry grinned at her.

"Quite the rebel, you are," he teased.

"Yes, well," Hermione responded in a very responsible tone. "I had to check in, didn't I?" She did not wait for a response, but continued talking rapidly as she crossed the room and sat on the couch, kicking off her shoes and pulling up her legs on the seat. "I spoke to Professor Vector after I talked to Dumbledore — he let me use his fire, but don't tell anyone that — and he's really excited, but didn't know much about what's going on. I was hoping he might have some information, but apparently this has never happened before — at least as far as he knows, and I'm sure he'd know if it had." Harry was impressed, as he often was, that Hermione didn't seem to need to inhale when she talked. "He's lent me a few books on the theory of alternate worlds, though." Hermione pulled several large volumes from her bag on the floor and set them on the table.

"Excellent," said Harry, eyeing the books with no intention of reading them. "Bedtime reading." Hermione rolled her eyes and returned to books to her bag.

"I'll let you know if there's anything interesting. But it doesn't seem like you're in any danger — for the moment, anyway."

"That'll make a pleasant change," Harry joked, but Hermione didn't laugh.

"Were we really fighting V-Vol… You-Know-Who?" Hermione asked anxiously. Harry nodded, his mind jerking back to the battle he had left. Had Voldemort brought his body to the castle? Had the fight gone on? Was it continuing right now?

"Yeah, we've been hunting Horcruxes — "

"What are Horcruxes?" Hermione interrupted, alarmed at the thought that she had never heard of something that was evidently key to defeating Voldemort. Harry explained briefly, but did not linger on the details of their year-long quest; He was eager to hear more about his life here.

"Sirius said we were good friends with Neville," Harry prompted. "What's he like?" Harry was intensely curious as to whether their exploits in the Chamber of Secrets and stopping Voldemort from getting the sorcerer's stone had brought Neville out of his shell in the way that the D.A. and resisting the Death Eaters at Hogwarts had.

"Well, he's a lot like you, I suppose," Hermione responded. "You're always goofing off in the back of lessons," she continued disapprovingly. Hermione went on to describe the Neville that Harry had barely had time to know — the boy he had become during the war.

"We need to make friends with Ron," Harry said matter-of-factly once Hermione trailed off.

"The Keeper?" Hermione shrugged. "He seems very childish." Harry laughed.

"You like him, I promise. I think you'll get on very well," he said knowingly. "Well, actually, you'll bicker constantly, and it'll be a huge pain, but it's worth it — trust me."

"I think there's another Weasley you're hoping to get to know better…" Hermione said with a teasing smile. Harry went slightly red. "Mmm, I thought so," Hermione said with satisfaction. Sirius, who had been listening intently to Harry's description of Horcruxes and then looking thoughtfully at the wall, quite as though he wasn't seeing it at all, while Harry and Hermione continued talking, excused himself to make tea. Harry waited a beat, and then double-checked that Sirius had left the room, before turning to Hermione.

"Listen, what do you know about Bellatrix Lestrange?" he whispered.

"Not much," Hermione matched his low tone. "Just that she was in You-Know-Who's inner circle when he was powerful, and that she's the first person to escape from Azkaban. And Neville's really… strange about her. He gets jumpy every time she comes up." Harry hesitated, wondering if he should tell Hermione that it had been Bellatrix who had tortured Neville's parents into insanity, but decided against it.

"And they reckon she's coming to Hogwarts?" he prompted instead. "Is that why there are dementors?"

"Well, the whole staff has been really iffy about explaining why they're putting so much extra protection around the school. It seems like overkill as just a precautionary measure," Hermione said reasonably.

"She's evil," Harry said quietly.

"She's not your problem," Sirius said with uncharacteristic sternness as he returned with three mugs of tea. "I don't want you three going after her," he said seriously.

"We weren't going to!" said Hermione in surprise. "I mean, it's not like we go out looking for trouble… It just finds us. But we're not stupid enough to go off hunting Death Eaters." Harry said nothing, and suddenly became very interested in the pattern on the rug.

"Harry…" Sirius said warningly, trying to catch Harry's eye. Harry wished that Sirius would act less like the overprotective godfather of Fourth Year and more like the reckless Sirius from the year after. "Harry, I'm serious." Harry grinned.

"I know who you are, Sirius," he tried to change the subject.

"That got old in this life a while ago, kid. Now promise me you won't do anything stupid," Sirius said, staring hard at Harry. Harry considered whether it would technically be a lie if he agreed, since in his opinion it was far from stupid to do anything and everything in his power to stop Bellatrix… to hurt her.

"I won't," he muttered, avoiding Sirius's eye.

"Harry, you know I rarely tell you to stay put and be a good boy — well, maybe you don't know that, actually… but I don't. I'm all for adventures under the invisibility cloak, but running off after Death Eaters is different. It's stupid. Now promise me you won't." Harry reluctantly met Sirius's gaze, and agreed.

"Fine," he said, annoyed. "I'll stay put and be a good boy, then." For now, anyway, he added to himself. Hermione looked at him anxiously, and seemed to guess what he'd been thinking.

"Harry has more important things to concentrate on, don't you, Harry? We have our O.W.L.s coming up at the end of the year, and you haven't been in any classes — though I suppose you already took them, didn't you? Still, there's a lot of work to be done without taking over the Aurors' jobs. And I think that are women closer to home for Harry to chase," Hermione finished mischievously, and Harry flushed, thinking (as Hermione doubtless was) of Ginny. The prospect of preparing for tests he had already had to live through once, however, was less appealing. Hermione took a quick gulp of tea and stood up, slipping her shoes back on.

"I should head back to school," Hermione said, looking at her watch. "The common room should be empty enough by now to use that fire. Take care, Harry. Dumbledore said you're coming back on Sunday?"

"Yeah. He reckons I should emerge myself in day-to-day life or something," Harry said.

"Alright, I'll see you then." Hermione gave Harry a quick squeeze and disappeared in a swirl of green flames a moment later.

"Fancy a game of chess before bed?" Sirius asked Harry, banishing Hermione's mug to the kitchen with a flick of his wand. "You're playing white," He said, gesturing to the half-finished chess game. "You know, the side which is losing quite badly."

"Well, we'll see about that." Harry grinned and sat on the couch in front of the board. Sirius summoned a chair to face Harry on the other side of the table. The remainder of the game did not go well for Harry, who lost spectacularly in an embarrassingly short period of time. And yet, Harry thought as Sirius put him in checkmate, it was the best game of chess that he had ever played.


End file.
